


In Exchange for Silver Coins

by dwinchester



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon through 2x10, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 13:06:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwinchester/pseuds/dwinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things just keep getting worse for Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Two hours after the police station had been obliterated, Stiles found himself handcuffed and shackled to a gurney, an IV in his arm to keep him hydrated. It turned out that throwing up repeatedly could actually make a person sick, and not just the other way around. In between sessions with his vomit tray, he cried and prayed to a God he wasn't sure he believed in, just wanting to hear from someone. The county cop stationed outside his door was making that impossible. 

From what he had been able to piece together, thanks to the cop having no stealth whatsoever - the hunters had disappeared before the cops and ambulance arrived (Stiles had called to get help for his dad). His father was going to be questioned as soon as he woke up and had a doctor clear him. The county wasn't impressed that a recently-dismissed Sheriff had somehow been at the station full of dead officers, regardless of his own injuries. Stiles closed his eyes, knowing that it looked bad for him. He was the only person at the scene alive and unharmed, except for the cut on the back of his neck. He doubted that his father was even a suspect, at this point. Idly, he wondered if he was on the news and if this was being treated like some kind of Columbine thing. "Fuck." He muttered. It felt good, like it had managed to cut through the air and this impossible situation, so he said it again, louder. Repeated it. Screamed it. 

The officer strode into his room, yelling over his shoulder for a nurse as he held Stiles' shoulders down against the mattress. A nurse appeared seconds later, dosing him with something that took the fight out of him. 

Stiles slept. 

When he woke up, a glance at the window told him that it was nearly sunset. He struggled to sit up, groaning and tilting his head back against the pillows. His nose itched, but he didn't have any hands free. 

The cop from earlier had been relieved; a new one was sitting in a chair between the bed and the door. She looked sympathetic. "Do you want some water?" 

"I want a lot of things." Stiles retorted. "A greasy cheeseburger. Curly fries. A life without stupid fucking werewo-" His eyes widened, and he started coughing violently to cover up his mistake. 

She poured him a glass of water. Helped him sit up and drink it. "I'm sorry you're in this situation, kiddo." 

Stiles glared, even as he kept drinking from the cup she was holding to his mouth. 

"I know. You're a teenager and you don't want me to call you that. I'm not like the guy that was in here earlier. I'm willing to talk to you." She took the cup away from his mouth and set it on the table beside his bed, then pulled her chair closer and sat down, looking at him expectantly. 

"I'm not telling you anything because there's nothing to tell." Stiles muttered. He forced himself not to look away. Looking away was a textbook example of a defense mechanism. Staring straight into a person's eyes meant you were lying, but he didn't have to worry about that because he wasn't lying. "You can only hold me twenty-four hours, anyway. And this counts." He lifted his wrists, making the handcuffs clink against the bed rails. "So you've got about ten more hours of me singing you every theme song I know, because I've got ADHD and I never shut up." 

The officer blinked, then shrugged one shoulder. "Start with Sesame Street. That's my favorite." 

Stiles closed his eyes and settled back against the bed, doing a quick inventory of everything he knew. His dad trusted Scott more than him. Allison had a vendetta against Derek. The Beacon Hills County cops thought Stiles was the one that had murdered the staff, shredded evidence, and obliterated every window. "Maybe if I was Doctor Octopus and had eight fucking arms." He blurted. 

"What was that?" 

"Shit." Stiles muttered, opening his eyes and twisting around as best as he could. "You don't really think I did all of that by myself. There's no way. Look at me." He wiggled his arms. "You think I could have gone all Matrix on a bunch of people like that? All by myself? No. You're keeping me here to draw out whoever really did it." 

The officer looked uneasy. "That's not necessarily-" 

"Oh my god. You're green. They're making you do this because they didn't want to. Or because you feel like you have to prove yourself. Look, Officer whatever-your-name-is, it doesn't matter. Can you... can you at least just tell me if my dad's okay?" 

"He checked out of here around noon, with instructions not to leave town. That's all I'm allowed to say. And my last name is Bellamy, not whatever-your-name-is. You could have asked me that, too." 

"I weigh less than one-fifty, and you know those...." Stiles trailed off, not wanting to say more until a lawyer was present. He wanted to help them find Matt, but he had a bad habit of running his mouth and always saying the wrong thing. "Forget it. Can I just have visitors now? I mean, you're here in the room with me, and you have your gun. Where the hell would I even go?" He rattled the handcuffs again, then remembered the shackles around his ankles and set those clattering, too. "I sound like the ghost of Jacob Marley. Not to be confused with Bob Marley, who everyone says is awesome, but I just don't understand the appeal. I see your eyes crossing. I can go on like this all day. I tried to warn you." 

Officer Bellamy shook her head. "You wish my eyes were crossing, Mr. Stilinski." 

"Okay, no. My dad is Mr. Stilinski. I'm Stiles." 

Bellamy frowned at him and picked up a file folder, opening it and looking inside before glancing back up at him. "Load-of-slaw?" 

Stiles shook his head emphatically. "Pronounced Vladislav. Vlad, if you have to shorten it, except no, because it's Stiles. Stiles, okay? And don't go repeating my first name to people. Unless it's too late. Oh christ, it's too late. I'm all over the news as a Columbine copycat named Vlad. Fuck. Fuck my life. Fuck everything." 

"Paranoia and being glib are two symptoms that psychopaths tend to have, Mr. Stilinski." Officer Bellamy sat back in her chair, then picked up a magazine. 

"There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o." Stiles remarked. When she looked up at him, he snorted. "Sorry, I thought we were saying useless trivia." 

"You're not helping your case." 

"I don't have a case to help because I'm not guilty. Give me something. Tell me what you have and what you need to know, and I'll cooperate. Well, with my dad here. And probably a lawyer, since I'm not stupid." Stiles stammered, trying to figure out how to explain the night before without mentioning werewolves or Jackson's scaly complexion.

Before Officer Bellamy could respond to his requests, her radio crackled. "All units, we've got a ten thirty-two outside the sheriff's station. Victim has been identified as -" 

The officer switched her radio off, eyeing Stiles warily. She pushed a few strands of dark brown hair away from her face. 

Stiles took a few deep breaths, trying not to have a panic attack, the way he used to. The way, he realized belatedly, he had that morning. Just like that, everything slipped away. "Can't.... I can't breathe! I... call my dad... please. Please!" He heard her get up and run, calling for a nurse, but his eyes wouldn't focus long enough for him to actually see what was going on. He struggled to regain control of his breathing. Ten thirty-two was police code for drowning. If Jackson had hurt Scott or Derek, they could have drowned, since nobody else would have tried to save them. Flashes of holding Derek up in the school swimming pool kept coming back to him, and the way that the Alpha wolf had risked himself to protect his dad and Scott's mom. He heard someone trying to talk to him, to calm him down, but it wasn't until he got an injection of something (he wasn't sure what, but it was probably the same as last time) that he felt his body go lax and his breathing return to normal. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting them to understand. "Der-" He squinted, feeling like his tongue had doubled in size in his mouth. And then he couldn't make his body obey him anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to suggest a title for me. I'm stumped. 
> 
> I actually wanted to write a sequel to Twenty Words, but plot bunnies don't ever listen. They just keep spawning.

"We were concerned about him becoming dehydrated. He's had three panic attacks since we brought him in, and the first one involved dry heaves." 

Stiles listened as the doctor spoke quietly, keeping his eyes closed. He hated that voice. That was 'I'm sorry, Sheriff, but there's nothing more we can do. We've tried everything we could.' It made him angry, but he didn't want to give himself away by throwing something at the doctor. 

He realized then, that his cuffs and shackles were off. 

"Stiles?" 

Stiles sighed and opened his eyes, struggling to sit up. "Hey, Dad." He waited for the doctor to leave the room, noting that the county cops had disappeared. "I guess my twenty-four hours are up, then." 

John Stilinski sat down carefully on the edge of Stiles' hospital bed. "You're cleared. They told me I'm not the most credible witness, but my bruises matched my story, and so did the cut on the back of your neck. They want to keep you another day, just for observation, since you're acting like you've got PTSD." 

"Well, maybe I do." Stiles reasoned. "I'm sick of guns being in my face and getting hit with parts of my own Jeep, and let's forget I just said that because it's not important." 

"Not going to happen. Start talking. Does this have anything to do with Derek Hale?" 

Stiles groaned. "Do I need to remind you that I'm an invalid?" 

"Stiles." 

"Fine." Stiles whined. "Yes, it has everything to do with him. He's a werewolf. Scott's a werewolf. Everybody's a werewolf but me. Except Jackson. He's a giant lizard of doom." 

John blinked. "We'll talk again when your meds have worn off." 

"No!" Stiles grabbed his dad's arm. "Listen to me, for once. Fuck. I know, f-bomb. I don't care. Dad. You really trust Scott more than me? After everything?" 

John put his hand over his son's. "Scott doesn't lie to me." 

Stiles gulped and leaned back, yanking his hand away. "Could you leave? Don't go far, because I want to get out of here the second they let me, but maybe you're best off talking to your surrogate kid. The one that isn't a fuck-up and won't spend the rest of high school with his ass on a bench, never getting to play lacrosse. Never getting the girl. Or guy. But you don't want to hear that, either. Nice of him to come visit me, too. Real best friend." 

"He went through the same thing you did." 

"No!" Stiles yelled. "No, he didn't, because he got shot and was fine two minutes later. One more thing he can do better than me, now. He doesn't have to worry about somebody murdering him and not being able to come back from it." He felt his face get hot, tears pooling in his eyes. "I don't even care who hears me anymore. Or, you know what? Nobody hears me. It doesn't even matter. Just... just leave." 

John stood up, his movements stiff. "I'll be in the hallway." He murmured, reaching toward Stiles. He pulled his hand back, rather than ruffling his son's hair like he had intended. 

Erica walked into the room a couple of minutes later, slinging her leather jacket across the back of the chair that Officer Bellamy had been sitting in, the day before. She stopped by the bed and smiled at him. "On a good day, you look defenseless. Today, you just look like shit." 

"So much for me being Batman." Stiles looked up at her. "Why are you here?" 

Erica seemed surprised by the question, then annoyed a second later. "Well, we can't all get our asses in trouble on a daily basis, Stiles. Why does Derek always have to save you?" 

Stiles sat up. "You with your present tenses. Does this mean what I think it does?" 

"That I have a basic understanding of the English language?" Erica guessed. "Looks like." 

"No, you idiot!" Stiles blinked. "I meant to say beautiful girl. Not idiot. This medication has me all fucked up. It's good. You should try it." He smiled nervously. 

"I think it's cute how scared you are, but what the hell are you talking about?" Erica demanded. 

"Derek's alive." Stiles looked concerned. "He is, right? You didn't come here to tell me he's dead?" 

"Aww, you miss your boyfriend. That's so cute. I'm here right now, though, because it's a nice place. Very public. The kind of place where hunters won't try to kill you. Werewolves, maybe. Too bad you're not hooked up to a ventilator, because that? That would be so easy." 

Stiles looked resigned. "With the week I've been having, you'd probably be doing me a favor. Sucks for you, though. I can breathe through my own lungs." He paused, thinking of his panic attacks. "For the most part." 

"How long exactly were you stringing Derek along? And me? I don't get you. The kanima... okay, whatever. Jackson. Jackson attacks me in the library, and you could have left me to die. It would have made more sense with your little plan to stop Derek. But you brought me to him. All I can figure is that it was to gain his trust, but you already had his trust, you fucking loser." 

"I'm still worn out from having a gun pointed at my face and being paralyzed, so could you wake me up when you're done talking this nonsense? I feel like I'm in one of those dinner theater situations. I didn't ask for this." 

"You and Scott." Erica frowned. "So, wait. You really don't know, do you? Scott's been working with Allison's dickface grandfather. He set Derek up. We're all hiding out in really public places, where the hunters wouldn't bother trying to attack us. Too many witnesses. I picked here because I wanted to tell you you're an asshole, but you're not an asshole. You really didn't know." She turned her head, even though she spoke quietly. "Derek. It's safe to talk to Stiles." 

Derek walked into the room, studying Stiles as he approached him. "It's not safe for us, anywhere." He corrected Erica. "Not until we can put a stop to the Argents." He grimaced. "Stiles, did you develop an eating disorder?" 

"No!" Stiles looked defensive. 

"The whole room does smell like puke." Erica commented. 

"I had a panic attack. A few times." Stiles muttered. "I'm calling Scott." He looked defensive. "I trust you, okay. I haven't forgotten all the times you've kept me from dying. And last night, with my dad." He frowned. "Wait, was that last night?" 

"Two nights ago, Stiles." Derek frowned. "Go ahead, but we're staying close." 

"Like I expected anything else, you creepy stalker you." Stiles said dryly. 

Erica handed Stiles' cell phone to him, then followed Derek out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles supposed his life was incredibly strange. Seeing Scott walk into his hospital room and sniff the air didn't bother him at all. 

"Derek and Erica were in here?" Scott frowned and held a fast food bag out to Stiles. 

"I love you." Stiles blurted, grabbing for it and rifling through to see what Scott had brought him. "I will become a were-seahorse and carry all of your children." 

Scott laughed. "Stiles?" 

"Yeah, they were here. Checking up on me." Stiles shrugged one shoulder. Half-truths were easier than outright lies. He set the bag aside and looked up at his best friend. "They said you decided Judas Iscariot was your new role model." He waited, sighing when he realized he had to explain yet another reference to Scott. "The guy that betrayed Jesus for some quick cash. Not that Derek is Jesus. That would be a really scary scenario. God. Now I'm picturing Jesus with fangs. Tell me to shut up at any point." 

"Shut up." Scott said weakly, sitting down. 

"That chair has officially gotten more ass than me." Stiles muttered. "Okay, you have to tell me what happened. Everything. I mean, gun in my face, paralyzed and terrified that I was going to piss my pants, Derek keeping my dad and your mom safe..." He threw that last part in deliberately, gauging Scott's reaction. "And then I called for an ambulance and spent twenty-four hours chained to a bed, and not even in the fun way I would have preferred. So, what did I miss?" He bit into the cheeseburger he had found in the bag, then sat back against the pillows as he chewed. 

"I'm working with Gerard Argent." Scott admitted. "So if Derek heard, I'm screwed, I guess. I just wanted to keep my mom safe." 

Stiles gave the cheeseburger a mournful look and set it on the table next to the bed. "So you thought, 'hey, I haven't had enough danger in the last few months, I think working with the guy that wants me dead might be just what I need.' Like I said, Derek was keeping your mom safe. And my dad. And he wasn't doing it for any other reason than because he wanted them to be safe. Gerard... the Argents, and yeah, I'm sorry, but Allison applies here, since she decided she's the fucking rogue Slayer. They're not protecting anyone. They want all of the werewolves dead. What do you think they're going to do when the wolves, except for you, are gone? You are next." He rubbed his eyes. "You're next, Scott. Is it really... did you think about Erica? Or Boyd and Isaac? I mean, Isaac's on his own, except for Derek. But Erica has parents. Boyd has parents. Family, you know? And I'm not saying... I know you wanted to protect your mom. But Derek was protecting her. Gerard and the Argents threatened her. They were doing the opposite of protecting her. You don't know what it's like to have to put one of your relatives in the ground. I hope you never know how much it sucks. I don't have a lot of family. Just my dad and you. Yeah, okay. I think of you as being like a brother to me, all inappropriate jokes aside." He shook his head when Scott started to speak. "No, for once you're going to listen to my entire rant, because I'm not finished. They didn't just threaten your mom. They decided to attack all of us. The station got obliterated, in case your hormone-addled brain failed to notice. I spent twenty-four hours unable to move from this bed because I was the only person alive and with the least amount of visible injuries, so they blamed me. I could have ended up spending the rest of my life in prison because of how bad that looked. Nobody else bothered sticking around. Not even you." 

"What do you want me to do, Stiles? I can't reverse time. I can't take any of it back." 

"Yeah, I know. The past is past." Stiles muttered. "What do you want to do now? Are you going to keep working with Allison and her psychotic grandfather?" He rolled his eyes, speaking at the same time as Scott. "I love Allison." 

"Well, I do love her. It's not her fault that Derek killed her mom. It's..." Scott looked horrified. "It's mine." 

"Wait, hold on. Allison's mom is dead?" 

"Yeah." Scott nodded. "She was trying to kill me, so Derek..." 

"Derek did what?" Stiles prompted. 

"Derek saved me by attacking her." 

Stiles snorted. "I hope you signed a contract for those thirty pieces of silver, and that you actually have time to spend them somewhere before the Argents decide it's your turn. Maybe we should strike a deal with Matt and get Jackson to take care of them for us, huh? It's a thought." 

"Um, Matt's dead." 

Stiles groaned. "Don't tell me. He drowned." 

"Yeah." Scott nodded. "How did you know?" 

"I had a county cop guarding me that was stupid enough to leave her radio... on." Stiles sat up again, climbing out of the hospital bed. He stumbled forward. "Get my dad." 

Scott nodded again and ran out of the room. 

Stiles looked around for his clothes, then trudged into the bathroom to get dressed. When he came back out, he blinked in surprise at Derek and Erica on one side of the room, glaring at Scott, who was back in his chair. His dad was standing at the foot of the bed.

"Lay back down." John commanded. "You're not out of the woods yet." 

Stiles snickered, for reasons only he would understand. "I know you didn't believe me earlier, but werewolves are real." He told his dad, gesturing around the room. "These three are werewolves." 

Derek scowled. 

"Get over yourself." Stiles pointed at Derek. "He needs to know this. After last night-" 

"Two nights ago." Everyone corrected Stiles. 

"Right, right. Excuse me, but confusion about what day it is tends to happen when you're busy having panic attacks because you're chained to a hospital bed." 

"He's telling the truth." Scott stood up, holding up both hands to show his claws to John Stilinski. "My mom knows now, too. She saw me shift." 

"Can I have your chair?" John didn't want for a response. He walked past Scott and sat down. "What do you want us to do?" 

Stiles was looking at Scott, so he didn't realize that his dad's question had been directed at him. 

"Stiles." John frowned. 

"Huh? Oh. I'm not the authority here. Derek is." 

Derek looked just as startled as Stiles. "No, I'm not. This is your call." 

"Oh my god, am I dying?" Stiles blurted. 

"No, stupid. Just take the lead." Erica smiled. 

"Right. Okay." Stiles nodded. "Scott, get out. You're my best friend, but I can't trust you right now, because for all I know, you're just going to take whatever I say back to the Argents." 

"I won't." Scott protested. 

"Just like you didn't join Derek's pack just to screw him over?" Stiles shook his head. "I'll see you later." 

A few minutes after Scott left the room, Stiles gave Derek a questioning look. 

The werewolf nodded at him. "He's gone." 

"We need more cops on our side." Stiles began. 

"No." Derek scowled. "The fewer people that know, the better." 

"Says the man who turned three teenagers into werewolves." 

"I needed a pack." Derek argued. 

Stiles recoiled as though he had been slapped. "You had one already." 

John cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable as his son and Derek became locked in a staring match. "You were saying?" He prompted. 

"Right." Stiles muttered, looking away from Derek. "I know it's standard ops to turn off your radio when you're guarding a criminal, or even a potential criminal, in the hospital. Batteries aren't cheap, yadda yadda, can't respond to calls because that leaves the person free to wander off, assuming they can get out of the handcuffs and shackles, and I'm a sixteen year old boy that has less muscle tone than the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, why the fuck did they go to all of that trouble?" 

"Stiles, get back on track." John frowned. 

"Okay. What I'm saying is, Officer Bellamy was new. It was obvious. She was alternating between sympathetic and sarcastic, like she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. But she also had that rigid... you know, that look. Like she was reciting laws and codes in her head, even though she's probably memorized every single one of them. I'm saying she's got something to prove to somebody. Herself. That's my guess. There's no way she would have left her radio on, knowing that I was awake and could have heard anything." Stiles paused. "Unless she wanted me to. I don't know. She turned off the radio before I could hear who had drowned, but she knows I'm your son and that I've probably heard every kind of call at least once, so I at least figured out the drowning thing. She doesn't belong with county. Everybody knows they suck. And, in case it slipped your attention, we're down about six officers here. We need allies." 

"We can't just pull someone aside and tell her that werewolves are real and we need her to be our go-between." Derek shook his head. "Especially not a cop." He looked at John, suddenly uncomfortable. "No offense." 

"You just said this is my call." Stiles protested. "If you don't want my help, you're on your own. I think I've proven that I can help you and your pack survive." 

"Our pack." Derek muttered. 

Stiles blinked. "Right, except for how I'm not a werewolf and you actually thought that I was working with Scott and the Argents all of an hour ago." 

"I'm getting a soda. This is boring." Erica complained, hiding her smile until she got past Derek and Stiles. 

John snorted in amusement. "I think I'll join you." 

Stiles shook his head when the door closed behind them. "I need to know that you actually trust me, all right? Nobody else does." 

"Your dad does." 

"No, he doesn't. The only reason he even agreed to let us look at the evidence he had was because Scott said pretty much the exact same thing I did, and he told me point-blank that he trusts Scott, and oh how I wish I had used any words that weren't gun-related." Stiles stammered, wheezing. 

Derek was at his side an instant later, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and helping him sit up. "Breathe, Stiles. Calm down. It's okay." 

Stiles nodded frantically, working to get his breathing under control. "Sorry." 

Derek scowled at him. "Don't apologize to me. Anyone else going through what you did would have broken a long time ago." He shoved Stiles over, then sat on the bed with him. "Does that happen a lot? The panic attacks?" 

"Not always. I mean, it's not like how Scott needed his inhaler. I got them after my mom died, for a few months. I missed a lot of school, but I kept up with my assignments because it gave me something to focus on. I still have a little trouble sometimes. Nothing serious until now, but something about having a gun pointed in your face makes everything worse, I guess. Or it could have been the fact that I was being treated like a criminal. How did you not kill us right after you got released?" 

"Years of practice, controlling myself." Derek admitted. "The anger actually helps me." 

"That explains so much." Stiles nodded. "Well, I guess I can just continue to be your punching bag if it keeps you from eating the entire town." 

Derek stared at Stiles for a few seconds. "You're not my punching bag." 

"Yes, I am. It's okay. I can be a punching bag for you, a guidebook for Scott, a source of amusement for Jackson and nag the hell out of my dad when he tries to eat anything greasy that's going to give him heart problems again. He's got high cholesterol. Or, he did, anyway. But I took care of that by making him eat his vegetables. And other stuff. Cheerios actually help. It's not just an advertising ploy. Why are you staring at me? It's freaking me out. Stop." 

Derek shook his head. "It just occurred to me that if you weren't around, everything would be so much worse than it is." 

Stiles' mouth opened, and he stared back at Derek. "You're... welcome?" 

"How do we get rid of the Argents?" Derek moved around, trying to get more comfortable. 

Stiles sighed. "They fired a fuckload of bullets, but I don't think they stopped to gather the shell casings. They also probably didn't leave any fingerprints behind, so there's nothing necessarily connecting them to the station, other than what Scott and I, and you, have to say about it. And let's face it, nobody's going to listen to any of us. Allison's head is so far up her own ass right now, I'm surprised there's any room for Scott's. But yep, his is right up there, too. He won't want us to turn her in, since she could be tried as an adult. She might get a reduced sentence, though. Since her mom died right before she decided she wanted to kill you. I know, I know. 'Shut up, Stiles.' I'm working on it. It's just easier to say it out loud for it to make sense, sometimes." 

"I wasn't actually going to tell you to shut up. Go on." 

"I'm officially in Mirror-Land. Or it's opposite day. Something... all right. We need to get Scott's mom somewhere safe. She can't be used as a bargaining chip if she's gone. My dad can keep her protected, too. That gets him out of the way." 

"What about Lydia and Peter?" 

"What about... what?" 

"Shit." Derek muttered. "I didn't tell you." 

"No! Nobody tells Stiles anything. Everybody always wants answers, though." Stiles snapped. 

"Get the fuck over it, Stiles. I had other shit to deal with, like Jackson paralyzing me again and trying to keep him from killing your dad!" 

"Yeah, and if you had told me that they were... wait, Lydia and Peter? As in, your uncle?" Stiles groaned. "I think I might throw up again, and there's barely anything left. Goodbye, spleen. Nice knowing you." 

"Lydia did something. Peter wasn't dead, he was controlling her, and he made her attack me." 

"Tiny little Lydia attacked you?" Stiles laughed. "Why does this surprise me?" 

"I don't know where either of them went. I was unconscious, and then Deaton woke me up and told me to go find Scott." Derek frowned. "No, he told me to go find you. You do trust me, don't you?" 

"I would be pretty fucking stupid not to, at this point." Stiles said pointedly. "If you're wondering, the answer is yes; that was me insulting Scott, my best friend since we were in diapers, for being a dumbass." 

"Okay, but you didn't really answer my question. Do you trust me or not?" 

Stiles hesitated. "I trust that when I'm about to become Jackson's chew toy, you'll find a way to stop him from getting his teeth anywhere near me." 

"But you don't trust me, overall?" 

"You're not the cause of my trust issues." Stiles shrugged. "I am. So anyway, I think if we get Melissa, and please don't tell her I ever called her that or she'll kill me and not even you would be able to stop her, out of the house and away from Beacon Hills, we can have Scott do what he should have done in the first place and not make deals with the fucking Capulets." 

"Why don't you trust yourself?" 

"We don't have time to play therapist right now." 

"I think we do." Derek said easily, draping an arm across Stiles' shoulders. "You forgot that Scott's mom was there and witnessed things, too. She gave her statement already and the Argents are being brought in." 

"They're talking about it right outside the door, aren't they?" 

"No, a little further down the hall." Derek nodded. "She didn't mention Allison being there." He paused, listening. "Scott asked her to leave that part out." 

"Of course he did." Stiles muttered. He glanced down at Derek's arm. 

"Talk."

"Definitely in Mirror-Land." Stiles nodded. "It's not like that, exactly. I know I'm good. I have the police codes memorized, I own a small library of werewolf information, I have a lunar calendar on my wall. I made mountain ash last longer than it should have, and I still don't know how, but I believed it would. So it did." He sighed. "It's just that in between the moments where I know I've been awesome, there's the lying to my dad, hating Scott every time he mentions Allison, wondering why I'm the invisible one. Or on mute, since nobody else listens." 

"I'm listening right now." Derek squeezed one of Stiles' shoulders. "I listen to you more than you think." 

"Because I never shut up?" 

"No! Goddammit, Stiles. Because what you say matters. Why do you think I keep coming to you for answers? I don't have any. I can't do this by myself." Derek froze, wondering if Erica was somewhere close by, listening. "Deaton told me I'm not a good Alpha." He gave Stiles an appraising look. "I think you would be." 

"You're not turning me." 

"I don't want to turn you. I need you to help me, but you don't have to be a werewolf to do it." Derek grimaced. "I couldn't, anyway. You're different." 

"I know I'm weird-" 

"I didn't say weird. Yeah, you're weird. But I said different. I've known it since I saw you." 

"That sounded like you were hitting on me." Stiles smiled. 

"I wasn't. I don't even know how, remember?" 

Stiles didn't care that Derek could probably smell that there were no meds left in his system, he would blame it on being strung out if he had to. "Kind of like this." He turned to fully face Derek. "If I could change the alphabet, I'd put U and I together." 

Derek blinked. "That was terrible." 

"I know." Stiles changed the subject. "At least if we're all here, Allison won't show up and start shooting at us. She's not stupid. She might be dating Scott, but she's not stupid. I have anger issues myself, right now." 

"Where did you even hear something that terrible?" 

"Oh my god, stop worrying about that. I was making a point. Point made." 

"How much porn do you watch?" 

"How much... what does that... what?!" Stiles stammered. 

"That line sounded like it came straight out of a porno." 

"I wouldn't say 'straight.'" Stiles blurted before he could stop himself. "Oh my god." He grabbed a pillow and put it over his face, embarrassed. "What do you even know about porn, anyway?" He pulled the pillow away from his face and swatted Derek with it. 

"I was actually a teenager at one point." Derek said dryly. "And I did have the internet." 

"Stop talking, I'm begging you." Stiles whined. "This is why I should be the one making all of the conversation, because I don't want to hear anything that is coming out of your mouth. Stick to non-words. Growling should be just fine." 

"Do you... like when I growl?" 

Stiles stared at Derek, a horrified expression on his face. 

"That's hitting on someone." Derek looked triumphant. "Not telling you that you're different. Different is an observation that anyone would have made about you. See the difference?" 

Stiles kept staring, too stunned to speak. 

"What else don't I know about you? Are you gay? Bisexual? When's your birthday? Where do you go when you're not hanging around Scott?" 

Stiles licked his lips. "I'm... where is this coming from? Are you... I'm actually at a loss for words. Good for you. This is like, your personal version of kicking Bowser's ass, except that I'm not the giant lizard king, the way Jackson is. I'm barely a goomba." 

"You should really read more books." 

"I read plenty of books." 

"Not about werewolves." Derek explained, rolling his eyes. "You have a fascination with Batman that I'll never understand, for one thing." 

Stiles really wanted to go back to flirting with Derek, if that's what they had actually been doing. Anything was better than the Alpha wolf trying to actually get to know him. "My mom died when I was ten." He sighed. "I didn't want to talk about this, but fine, we'll talk. It was a hit and run. The doctors tried to save her, but they couldn't. Bruce Wayne lost both of his parents when he was a kid, too. I know I've got my dad, but I almost didn't. He had chest pains about a month after my mom died. It wasn't a heart attack, but it was close enough." And if Stiles leaned a little closer to Derek, seeking comfort, it didn't mean anything. "But you had other questions, so I'm just gonna... answer those now. I guess I'm bisexual. It's more like I'd take anybody that wanted me, at this point. I'm sick of being alone. My birthday's January first." He snorted and glanced down at the stark white hospital sheets. "I know. I wasn't even born at midnight. That would have been awesome. It was around ten a.m." 

Derek waited until Stiles was looking at him before he nodded. "You shouldn't settle. You need to make sure you're with the right person. Really be sure. Don't let somebody convince you to sneak around behind your dad's back." 

Stiles put his hand on Derek's arm, faltering for a second, but not backing off. His words of reassurance died on his lips, and he smiled instead. "You must be tired, because you've been running through my mind all day. That's another good one. A good bad one. It's a classic." A breath, and he was changing topics again. "We need to find a way to disarm Allison. With weapons. Don't go ripping her arms off. I think Scott is attached to her arms." He laughed. "No, she is. But you know what I meant." 

Derek's expression was unreadable, as usual, as he stared at Stiles. "We could hospitalize her." 

"Yes, but no!" Stiles blurted. "Did you get rabies as a kid? Your brain is not.... you need to embrace life. Hug a tree." 

Derek smiled slowly. 

"Oh my god, you actually made a joke." Stiles twisted back around and leaned against the pillows, then pressed a button to adjust the bed. "Let's not do any more war strategy talk right now. Do you watch tv, or is it against your religion?" He snorted. "I mean, besides porn. Why do I even know this about you?" 

"Partly because I think it's time for me to let someone get to know me." Derek replied, his tone serious. "And it makes the most sense for it to be you." 

Stiles rolled his eyes and batted his eyelashes. "Because you think I'm pretty?" 

"Because if I get tired of you knowing my secrets, I can let you die." Derek teased. He felt guilty immediately. "I'm not good at making jokes." 

"It was morbid humor. I understood it." Stiles assured him. "It was good."


	4. Chapter 4

Scott pretended to listen to his mom and Stiles' dad talking about the attack and werewolves. He nodded when it was appropriate, but his focus was on the conversation taking place between Stiles and Derek. They were flirting, and Stiles sounded different. Scott was pretty sure he had never heard Stiles speak the way he was. It wasn't the words, so much as his tone. Even in talking to Lydia, Stiles always had his guard up, like he didn't think she would ever want him back. That sharp edge to his voice was gone when he talked to Derek. "Oh, crap." He blurted. 

His mom looked concerned. "Scott, what's wrong? Is someone in trouble?" 

Scott frowned. "You're kidding, right? I'm not Lassie, I'm a werewolf. I just... thought of something." He shrugged. "I need to talk to Stiles." He walked back down the hall and into Stiles' hospital room. "Derek, can you let me talk to Stiles? You know, out of your hearing range?" 

Derek, miraculously, looked at Stiles to make sure the teen was okay with him leaving. 

Stiles nodded. "It's fine." 

Scott stared in disbelief as Derek and Stiles had an entire conversation with their eyes before Derek nodded back and left the room. He waited a few minutes, making sure Derek had time to get away. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Tell you what? I'm not the one keeping secrets, Scott wo-" Stiles sat up suddenly. "Scott Wolf! That's awesome. I'm calling you Bailey from now on." 

"Are you done?" Scott looked impatient. 

"Yeah, sorry. I'm still freaked out. I'm clinging to any scraps of humor I can find." 

"Are you in love with Derek?" Scott looked uncomfortable. "It's okay if you are. I mean, I'm not giving you my permission. You don't need it, anyway. I'm just saying..." 

Stiles stared at Scott, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he burst out laughing. 

Scott blinked a couple of times. "So... you're not, then?" 

"Dude, I know I have low self-esteem, but I'm not interested in being with somebody that shoves me into walls and gives me concussions on a weekly basis." Stiles squirmed a little on the bed. 

"Are you okay?" Scott looked worried. "Did he hurt you while you two were by yourselves?" 

"No." Stiles made a face. "My ass is falling asleep." He stood up and started jumping in place. 

Scott grinned. 

"Nope." Stiles blurted. "I don't want to hear a word out of your double-crossing, pain in the ass mouth." 

"Ass mouth?" Scott repeated. 

Stiles laughed. "Yeah, you heard me. I have to clean up your messes all the time." His joking tone changed to one of irritation. He stopped jumping. "You didn't trust me. I get not trusting Derek because he's all eyes and grr, but I have always had your back. So if you just came in here to try to get me to join your little happy rainbows and sunshine couples only club, save it. For once, everybody is finally acknowledging me as having the answers, and I don't. But I will. And I don't know if I want to thank you or beat the crap out of you with that baseball bat you and your mom have for no fucking reason, since the reason they want me to make the big speech and save the day is because you wrecked everything." 

Scott hesitated, glancing at the door before he looked back at Stiles. "When this is all over, can we be okay again?" 

Stiles looked defeated. "I don't know. I thought I had everything under control, but man... I have been downing everything I can get my hands on since you got the bite, and seeing my dad like that... and I couldn't do anything. I need time." 

"He threatened my mom." Scott mumbled. 

"And every other time, you've kept me in the loop, and I've managed to keep my dad out of situations like that. We can keep going back and forth like this, but we're not going to."

**Author's Note:**

> Because none of the Stilinskis have first names that we're aware of, I decided to give them some. John, for Stiles' dad, is something that I've seen a lot of, and it makes sense to me. 
> 
> Wlodzislaw, pronounced Vladislav, encompasses everything that we know about Stiles' first name. 1) Jeff Davis has said that it's not Genim. 2) Coach Finstock can't pronounce it and says it's child abuse. 3) Stiles doesn't like it. 4) It's an old name and was also his grandfather's name. 5) Wlodzislaw is a Polish name, as is Stilinski. Yes, I'm aware that Stilinski is his father's last name and not his mother's, but it's not much of a stretch to think that both families are Polish. 
> 
> Vladislav (and I'm spelling it this way because it make the pronunciation easier) means 'to rule with glory.' In my head, Stiles is the true Alpha. Not Scott, not Derek. Alphas provide for their packs and take care of them. Who drives everyone around? Stiles. Who does all of the research that Scott doesn't even try to do? Stiles. Who saves Derek's cute little ass? You get the idea. 
> 
> Anyway, wouldn't it be hilarious for a werewolf to be best friends with a guy named Vlad? Come on.


End file.
